The Secret Life of A Riddle
by Hyaci
Summary: After the final battle- which Harry lost- Hermione and her friends take refuge in the Room of Requirement. Then, as if by divine intervention, they are offered a way to go back and fix everything that is wrong with the world- but what Hermione and her friends didn't count on, was Hermione becoming a Tom Riddle's twin sister. Tom x Hermione, false twincest alert!
1. Chapter 1

Hi everyone! Hyaci here! I've recently become a fan of Tom x Hermione, so I decided to cook this up XD

* * *

**1: Enigmatic Me**

* * *

"NO!"

Hermione's voice rung through the crowd, raw and loud, as Harry began to slowly fall back towards the ground, a green light still reflected on his glasses, his face still in an expectantly triumphant expression. At Hermione's primal yell of sorrow, the whole crowd erupted with loud murmurs, confused and disappointed. Harry Potter- the boy who lived- had just faced off with an elder wand bearing Voldemort- and died.

"What were you thinking, Harry," she sobbed, more to herself than anything, although Ginny _was_ beside her, resting her shell shocked face on Hermione's shoulder. Left and right, people were being shot down by the death eaters, but Hermione was too numb to care. Distantly, she heard screams and people pushing each other out of the way. It was not until a death eater had advanced and pointed a wand at Ginny that Hermione snapped herself out of it.

She wordlessly pointed her wand at the death eater, and a red jet propelled him back into a tree, where he slumped down quietly.

Grabbing Ginny by the arm, Hermione dashed through the grounds and up the front steps of Hogwarts castle, not caring how many mangled bodies she trampled. More than once, she thought she saw a flash of Weasley red hair on the ground, and heard a shrill scream behind her, but she never slowed down, not when she saw a pitiful Neville being overwhelmed in a duel, not when she spotted a Lucius Malfoy and his wife crying over the mutilated body of their son, not when she saw a glassy eyed Mrs. Weasley rocking on her heels, muttering to herself on the castle floor, not until she reached the seventh floor corridor, permanent residence of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

It seemed she was not alone in thinking of this to be the place to go, as in front of a slowly forming door stood a disheveled and serenely calm Luna Lovegood, wand in the air, and an unconscious Ronald Weasley floating beside her. Hermione felt a rush of emotion as she looked at the boy with whom she had shared something special, quite sorrowful at the thought that their love would never truly come to be. There was too much between them now- too much had changed. It hurt to look at him, and Hermione looked away, transferring her attention to the girl beside him. Luna's eyes were not dreamy for a change- they seemed furious, contrasting quite spectacularly with her smile.

Luna turned, and kicked the door open, muttering slowly to herself in a voice so completely unlike herself that Hermione thought, perhaps, it was someone else. Ron floated in after the Ravenclaw girl, and Hermione and Ginny exchanged glances. Quickly, they rushed in before the door to the Room of Requirement had a chance to disappear.

As the wall smoothed over behind them, Hermione began to dust off her robe, when Luna's voice- back to its normal state- said, in a wholly despairing manner- "So it's all over now. He's won."

She felt her throat clench up, and she found tears running down her face as she nodded. "Yes."

Ginny- who, although she _had_ cried, now began to show the true extent of her grief as the tears poured out of her eyes, seemingly endless. "Expelliarmus?" she wept, "What has he thinking? Facing off against the deadliest dark lord in history with- with expelliarmus?"

"He put too much reliance on wand theory," Hermione said bitterly. "He thought that his ownership over the wand would save him." She paused. "The wand must have changed allegiances sometime before the duel. When?"

"Perhaps he'd been disarmed?" Luna suggested her voice carefully neutral.

Hermione tilted her head to the side, considering the possibility. There was no way; she'd been with him the whole time from the time they'd left Malfoy Manor until the final battle- he'd never been disarmed under her watch. Slowly, she shook her head.

"How long can we last in here?" she asked in a soft voice.

"About two weeks," Luna said slowly, previous line of inquiry all but forgotten. "Good thing we restocked our food supply just prior to the battle." Luna paused. "And I made sure to close all the loopholes, so…"

All was silent save for Ginny's sobbing afterward. Slowly, unsure of herself, Hermione reached over and patted Ginny on the back comfortingly, only to have her hand swatted away angrily by the redhead.

"Don't touch me," she spat, her voice bitter and venomous, like a snake bite. "Don't comfort me, don't pretend you know how it feels."

"Ginny!" Hermione cried, shocked. "What's wrong with- how dare you insinuate-"

"GO AHEAD!" Ginny screamed, her voice scratchy. "PRETEND YOU KNOW HOW IT FEELS! TO HAVE TO SIT ON THE SIDE AND… AND WAIT, WAIT FOR HIM TO RETURN!" A long, pregnant pause, after which Ginny started up again, her voice softer, more muted. "And- and when he does, he just- poof, like that-" She broke down again, tears streaming down the same tracks they had been on not a moment earlier, "I- sorry, j-just let me wallow."

Hermione surveyed the redhead frostily for a minute, before inclining her head, conceding to her friend's request. She then turned to Luna, her voice shaky, but still as businesslike as it had been before Ginny's outburst.

"Let's see how long we can make those two weeks of food last," Hermione sighed.

* * *

"Dead?"

"Dead," Hermione affirmed, her voice emotionless, her mind- her heart far too numbed to feel anything, even when speaking about the death of one of her closest friends. It was something that should have torn her up- ripped her to pieces and left her shattered, unable to comprehend her unfortunate life- but it didn't. Hermione was strong like that.

Ron wasn't.

After twenty minutes of explanation, and about ten of repeated affirmations of Harry's death, the information had still not sunk in to his dense head. He looked at ease, as if at any time, Hermione would break out into a grin and say, "Gotcha!"

But she didn't, and he sat there, continually asking for another confirmation of Harry's death.

"Really dead?"

"Dead as they come," Hermione said patiently, her voice still sounding quite pleasant- too pleasant, even to her own cynical, jaded self.

"Really, really dead?"

"Dead."

It seemed that this was the breaking point for Ron. His eyes began to widen, and his mouth quivered slightly, before he began to stammer nonsensically. Tears threatened to spill out of his eyes, before he steeled himself, and nodded in an abrupt manner. Hermione smiled a soft smile; she knew he was putting on a show for his own benefit. He'd always needed to seem strong to _be _strong.

Soon, his face was stoic, and his wavering voice was the only thing that made it obvious- at least, to Hermione- that he was dying inside. Another friend- one who had been like a brother to him, close enough to be a brother- was gone. Like leaves were blown apart in the wind, so had the golden trio. It had been inevitable- if not by death, undoubtedly something else would have split them- all close bonds were made to be broken, after all.

Hermione smiled to herself. She was perversely glad knowing that it had been death- and not something petty, something shallow- that had put an eternal end to the golden trio.

* * *

"Our food supply isn't going to last much longer," Ron said, his voice as harsh as it had been ever since Harry's death had been revealed to him. Perhaps it was his way of hiding his emotions, but Hermione always bristled at that abrasive tone. He didn't need to be angry all the time. All of them were angry enough on any given minute of any given day. It took all she had to bite back a retort.

Ginny apparently, didn't have enough willpower to resist.

"Maybe it would if you weren't such a _pig_," she sneered, "If you didn't _eat_ all the time, we'd have _more_ to eat."

"You eat just as much as I do," Ron roared defensively.

"DON'T YELL AT ME!"

Hermione's eyes fluttered closed, utterly exhausted just by _listening_ to the argument. She wasn't sure how much longer she could survive these Weasley shouting matches.

Opening her eyes, she saw Luna, looking at the fighting redheads in her usual dreamy demeanor. Since that day that they entered the room, looking for a safe place to hide, she had drifted back to her usual odd- but kind and dreamy- disposition. She, out of all of them, was the least affected by the turn of events- Harry's loss, Voldemort's victory. Or perhaps she was merely stronger than the rest of them- she had shown a clear mind when she'd sought out the room, after all- maybe it was because she had weathered out the experiences?

Or it had yet to sink in with her.

She was broken out of her reverie when a vase smashed behind Ron. Hermione winced- Ginny had taken on violent tendencies recently.

When Ron drew his wand, Hermione knew things had gone too far. With a flick of her wand, his came sailing through the air, landing at her feet when she made no effort to catch it. He glared at her, and she stared blankly at him. In the end, he silently strode over to pick up his wand, before stowing it into his pockets.

* * *

"We need to take a more proactive stance," Ginny stated, pacing furiously around the room. Hermione was reading- she'd taken to reading about advanced spells she had no hope of performing in order to pass the time- and only spared the redheaded girl the briefest of glances.

"There's nothing we can do," Hermione stated, her eyes once again glued on _Magic of the Highest Calibre_.

"We could try to- I don't know, send a message?"

"How?" It was Luna this time, evidenced by the soft ethereal tone of the voice.

"I don't know… obviously not Owl Post… not Floo either…"

"Patronus?" Ron suggested.

"We'd have to leave the room to send one," Hermione reasoned, "And if the Order sends a patronus back to us, it wouldn't be able to get into the room." She paused. "Not that they would send one- it could reveal their position, compromise their safety."

And that was that- none of them had any other ideas.

* * *

It all started inauspiciously, on a day when all of them cut back, to preserve their resources. Their food supply was already wearing thin, and Ron and Ginny had slept the day through, preferring to become sedentary as opposed to feeling themselves slowly succumb to the wretched hunger that coursed through their gut every few minutes.

Hermione was busy reading another book full of advanced spells- _A Tome of Moste Feared Enchantments_- totally absorbed in the intense theories behind each of the complex spells and incantations, while Luna was doing what she did best- stare wistfully into space, face unreadable and eyes twinkling in a way that would put Dumbledore to shame.

The four of them were merely riding out the situation the best they could, for as long as possible. Deep in her gut, Hermione knew that eventually, they would have to choose between leaving to obtain more food, or to starve to death within the Room of Requirement, and it was not a decision she wanted to have to make.

Ginny awoke quietly, rubbing her red eyes with balled up fists. She glanced around the room, surveying the inhabitants with a critical eye. Luna looked as unkempt as ever; while Hermione's usually bushy hair looked like an out of control afro. Ron had so much dirt on his face that he looked like a pig, and she… well, Ginny wasn't doing well either. Her normally glossy red hair seemed greasy, and when she looked in the mirror, she couldn't help but notice that she had gotten extremely out of shape.

She contemplated asking the room for a treadmill, and perhaps a stairmaster or elliptical trainer, before deciding that she would probably be too hungry and exhausted to utilize exercise equipment of any kind.

Sighing, she made her way over to the cabinet that housed their food supply in order to fill her famished belly with her daily meal. Slowly and deliberately, she unlatched the cabinet door and peered inside.

"AAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHH!"

Ron jerked in his sleep at the scream, before rolling over and mumbling to himself irritably. Hermione was on her feet, visibly shaken, and Luna merely held her hands over her ears, seemingly unaffected.

"What's wrong Ginny?"

"The food- cockroaches!"

Hermione looked at Ginny sharply. "Is that _all?_"

The redhead could not believe her ears. "Cockroaches, Mione,_ cockroaches_."

"If push comes to shove, we'll probably end up eating those roaches, Ginny."

Making a face, Ginny turned back to the cabinet, to stare at the food that the horrid insects were currently feasting on- food she and the others had been squirreling away, carefully saving, trying to make last as long as possible- all ruined by cockroaches. For her, anyway.

Her face grim with resolve, Ginny pulled back her sleeve, to allow her arm to delve into the writhing mass, to search for any edible remnants of food.

* * *

Hermione pulled Luna back in through the door as fast as she could, hurling curses out at the Death eaters just outside. Quickly, she willed the doors of the room to close, and as if obeying her thought- her whim- it did, albeit creakily, reluctantly.

She turned back to the others, her face an unreadable mask.

"All the loopholes had been closed," she said, her voice crackling with authority. "It can't be opened from the outside. Which of us did it? Who opened it?"

A snort of derisive laughter drew the attention of the others to Ginny, who was grinning, looking insanely pleased with herself. Her eyes were tinted with madness- insanity, brought about by temporary belief in one's one invincibility, infallibility.

"What did you do?" Hermione whispered. "Why are you so pleased with yourself?"

"Obviously, Granger," Ginny said with a sneer that closely resembled a certain blonde pureblood Slytherin bigot that all of them were utterly well acquainted with- all unpleasantly so. "The infested food- I threw it all out."

_SLAP!_

Ron winced as he watched the whole scenario- beginning with Hermione furiously raising her hand, swinging it with full force, and culminating in his sister, glaring and nursing pained cheek with a red handprint marking it. Luna, as usual, was staring off into space, totally above such mundane happenings, so he was the only spectator.

He felt a righteous anger at the sight of his sister's blotchy, teary face, but he knew she had deserved exactly what Hermione had given her. Ron himself had wanted to strike her after he had found out what she'd done. Granted, he would have lost his resolve, but the simple fact that he had intended to- well, it testified to just how horrific Ginny's misdeed had been.

"Ginevra Molly Weasley! We were saving that food, trying to make it last for another week- and you just threw it out?" Hermione got into the redhead's face, poking a trembling, furious finger at her chest- "How dare you! If not you, someone else would have eaten it… I could have…" she was struck by an epiphany, "… multiplied it, kept us going forever…"

Ron averted his gaze as Hermione closed in to add another handprint to his sister's face.

* * *

Silent tears poured down Ginny's face as she held one of those vile, disgusting creatures in her hand- it's black shell crinkling under the force exerted by her fingers, disgusting fluid covering them, from the tips to the cuticles to the knuckles. Shakily, she lifted it up to her face….

Immobilized. It wasn't dead- she was eating it alive. She wondered how _it_ felt- awake but unable to defend itself as it was lowered into the moist, toothy cavern of death that was her mouth. Repulsed, Ginny shut her eyes tightly; willing herself to empty her mind, fill it with a blank canvas. She shouldn't have thrown out the infested food, she now knew. Silently, in the confines of her minds, she berated herself a thousand times, a million times.

"Eat, Ginny." A concerned voice- that of Hermione Granger, her best friend ever since they'd met and instantly developed a bond. They got miffed at each other every now and then, but more often than not, it was a quiet, muted affection that dominated the friendship between the two. And now, Hermione was expressing that affection by encouraging her to ravenously devour the insect, limp in the vicelike grip of her fingers- claws that held closed more tightly than a snitch that would only ever open for the first one to catch it.

"I can't." So simple, the truth.

An almost pitying look filled Hermione's face- but Ginny supposed that it wasn't. Her friend was simply too hardened by the war to have any use for such feelings anymore.

"Then starve."

* * *

True hunger was much worse- a hundred times, a thousand times worse- than they had thought. Up until now, they'd only had a taste of what it was capable of- what it could do were it given high authority- free reign over a person. Now, they knew- knew intimately the horrors of starvation and hunger.

They'd eaten up the nest- but kept a few couples to hopefully breed more to assist them in their fight for survival. But breeding wouldn't take place for another two weeks, and Hermione was unsure if they could last in the interim.

They'd all become shells of themselves- well, except Luna, perhaps, who was more herself than ever. Ginny- once the school's pretty sweetheart- now almost ugly with her stringy, sticky, greasy hair, dull eyes, and severe acne- caused by bouts of malnourishment and poor nutrition.

Tentatively, they'd tried the passage to the Hog's Head- only to bid a hasty retreat once they saw the rubble on the other side. Aberforth- Hermione wished she knew what had happened to the last remaining Dumbledore. It would be a waste if the genes for twinkling blue eyes were lost forever, a victim of both time and circumstance. Never was there to be another Dumbledore- the line of the greatest wizard the world had ever known, was irrevocably gone if Aberforth had not survived the final battle.

It hurt too much to see the ruins- they'd been unable to search for any food that may have been spared. They _did_ try an accio- that, however, turned up nothing.

Ron was the first to collapse from the hunger- knocked unconscious by his growling digestive organs. Ginny had been the pampered baby of the Weasley family- and regardless of financial situation, she'd always been well fed. It made sense therefore, that she would be the second to fall.

Luna had outlasted the other two for a day- nourished, Hermione half-heartedly suspected, by her own imagination. She was sure she'd heard Luna mumble deliriously about eating Wrackspurts and Snorkacks- creatures that the girl admired, and if she was seriously contemplating eating these imaginary companions of hers, Hermione knew she had to be hungry.

Hermione herself simply hadn't used too much energy up until recently. All she'd done in the past few weeks was reading up on spells and curses she was sure she'd never get the chance to even attempt, let alone practice and use. Even if she had the opportunity, her focus and magical ability had been affected to such a degree that she probably wouldn't even be able to cast a simple _Lumos_ without filling herself up a bit.

Now, she was the only one even remotely awake, weak and dazed, laying sluggishly on a squishy chair, her stomach in a perpetual state of emptiness. All she could hear were the growls of her belly, overpowering her senses, dominating her thoughts.

_I wish there were a painless way to end this all._

It was like a mantra to her- wishing for an easy way out. She didn't know how many times she repeated it quietly to herself in her mind. How many times the words slid out from between her cerebral folds, out into the arena that was her mind, a champion against the hunger that was knocking down all the other contestants like sacks of sand- even reciting the multiplication table could no longer distract her, and it had been her go-to for such situations in the past. No, the mantra was the only…

It was then that she noticed it, a shining archway of hope, somehow carving itself from the solid stone around it. An archway with many colors- blue, green, red, yellow, all at once. Hogwarts colors, Hermione noted, her mind far away from the thought, but anchored to it, coming closer all the time, accelerating.

It was then that she was struck with a clear mind, her cleverness- her intelligence somehow instilling itself back within her, even if only for a moment. Gathering her wits together, she reached for her wand- laid out uselessly on the dressing table beside her- and grasped it. Rising, she walked over to each of her companions on the floor, and one by one, resuscitated them.

"Rennervate… rennervate… rennervate…" she hoped it would work, have the same effect it did as a counter.

Eyes fluttered open, like butterflies emerging from their chrysalises, ready to spread their wings and fly, completing the transformation, the flight, at once. Luna's eyes, bright and in a slightly trancelike state. Ginny's, bright and clever- not great in either degree, but proficient in both. Ron's eyes, filled with an innocent, endearing simplicity that was unique in and of itself.

"Get up, get up."

"What's up, 'Mione?" Ron, yawning, one eye closed and being rubbed by his fist, the other slipping away like sand in a strainer.

"No- no, stay up."

"Er…" his voice was already so distant…

"We're saved!" Blurted out, a hope that was, as of yet, unconfirmed.

* * *

It was a stable, a dark, foul smelling stable, with four stalls. Within each was a different horse- an Abraxan, a Heliopath, a Pegasus, and a Thestral. Perhaps, at one point in all of their lives, there would have been only three horses present. But for the four of them, there were four horses, one for each person.

"Food!" Ron cried, something what would have inevitably happened. He rushed at the horses with a hungry look on his face, distressing them and causing Hermione to grasp his collar, and bring him back with more force than either of them would have liked. He glared at her sullenly, as she slowly approached the four equines.

She found herself attracted to the thestral- it was an animal as misunderstood and misinterpreted as she was. Slowly, she reached out a hand to place on its face, and it inclined its head ever so slightly, as if open to the idea. Stroking it caused a shiver to rise up from its spine to its head, and as a consequence, to Hermione.

A connection had been formed- weak and temporary, but a connection nevertheless.

She swung herself onto it effortlessly- something she normally would have been unable to do. A quick survey of her surroundings assured her that her friends had managed to do the same.

A sudden movement caught her unawares, and she found herself clinging for dear life to her steed. It had broken into a gallop, straight for the walls of the stable, a brick wall, held together by mortar. She squeezed her eyes shut; bracing herself for what would obviously be a disfiguring impact. The speed tore her frizzy hair loose from its normal position, clinging to her scalp, and she could feel soft tendrils of hair falling lightly onto her shoulders, brushing past her neck.

"No- NO!"

And she was out of the castle, as the winged horse glided through a thick mist, a fog that hung low over the land, shrouding the air in complete and utter darkness- or rather, dark grayness. The air was wet, humid, and clung to her skin, making her feel unpleasantly warm and clammy. Wind was blowing in her face so quickly that she felt her eyes drying out, causing her body to overcompensate with fat tears. These could only lubricate her eyes for a second before they too, were pulled by the wind down her cheeks, and inevitably were lost in her bushy hair.

Hermione pressed her face to the thestral, comforting herself in its soft boniness. She hugged the neck, and the bones that bulged out from it, her nose able to sniff out the smell of damp, matted fur. Involuntarily, her mouth opened, and some loose skin was sucked into her vacuum of a mouth, before she spat it out again. The taste was not unlike blood, she was disgusted to find and note.

So, in this manner, the ride lasted for several hours, and, as with all ordeals, she was caused to forget all else, and live for the moment, clinging on for dear life, willing to taste the foul skin of the horse in order to keep herself safely on its back. When the velocity of the thestral finally slowed, Hermione found she was once again herself- calm and composed- the very ideal of a clearheaded girl in the face of adversary. It was as if some switch had been flicked to make her cowardly for the duration of the ride.

She dismounted, and turned around, glancing up at the sky to look for her friends. For the longest time, she saw nothing- then, a heliopath flew down from the sun, its rider's hair as fiery as its own mane. Ginny, safe and sound, if a bit dazed and drowsy, but definitely in no danger of passing out from lack of food.

Abraxan and Pegasus approached side by side from the distance, riders calm and ready. Luna was, as always, in some dreamlike state, while Ron- though looking considerably pale- seemed quite capable for a change. As they flew by the ground, Ron simply slid off, while Luna twisted from the side of her steed, and managed to land- very catlike- on her feet.

"Where are we?" Ron's voice was toneless, his eyes boring into that of the other three. Hermione lent their surroundings an eye, and turned back to the group to deliver her report.

"It seems we are on Hogwarts grounds."

It was true- that was where they were. As in their memories, the woods looked every bit as intimidating and inviting as they remembered, the lake as inky and black as it had ever been. The grass had never looked greener, and the banners fluttered from the winds, hung on turrets.

But there were differences- both great and subtle. The Hogwarts the quartet remembered was in a sad state of disrepair, shattered by the brute forces of the dark side, whereas this version was intact- a great deal more so, even, than when they had first seen it. The whomping willow had obviously been uprooted- it was no longer there, a patch of brown dirt in its place. The tentacles of the giant squid no longer tickled the surface of the waters, only emerging once or twice, a great deal smaller than what they remembered.

But there was no mistaking it- it was Hogwarts.

"Home away from home," Luna said, awe evident in her voice.

"Did the death eaters do this?"

"Fix Hogwarts up like that? _Unlikely_."

"Bloody hell, it's fixed good and proper, isn't it?"

Hesitantly, Hermione took a step towards the castle. There was no response- no detection charm had been activated, and she found herself taking another step, and another… till she was striding up at full speed to the castle.

As they approached, the doors to the castle opened, and they could see inside. No decorations had been put up- no paintings, no portraits, nothing. Hermione quietly seethed in anger- so Voldemort thought he could just up and remove the things he didn't like about the castle?

She'd see about that.

Breaking her out of her train of thought was a light tugging on her sleeve. She turned, and looked down, and at seeing a piteous house elf, eyes bulging and wide, bulbous and shiny. At once, her ambitions for S.P.E.W. started up again, angered at the injustice the poor creature must have felt.

"Madame is expecting you, Miss, sirs."

They all exchanged glances, but it was Hermione who spoke.

"Where?"

"In the Ravenclaw tower."

The stood in front of the brass eagle door knocker, all staring intently into its beady, brass eyes, eyes that held no personality at all. And, in a mechanical voice, came the riddle that they were all expecting.

"I see witch and wizard, but only those that you describe may pass. One word please."

Hermione slowly turned around, just in time to see the others begin to squabble amongst themselves.

"We have more witches than wizards," Ginny argued.

"Let me go first," Ron said stubbornly, with his misguided sense of chivalry. "If nothing happens to me, you can come up after."

"Say witch," Ginny ordered, almost queenlike in her command.

"Wizard," Ron begged, his eyes imploring Hermione.

Luna caught Hermione's eye, and the two sent each other quick, almost imperceptible nods.

The brown bushy mane, whipped itself back around so that Hermione was once again face to face with the door knocker that was barring their entry.

"People."

And they were in- in the Ravenclaw tower, up the steps, and into a room Hermione was sure had not been there in the past. She barely had the time to register her surroundings- she'd been pushed along by the others.

The first thing she saw was a bed of ebony, carved intricately, masterfully, and decked with sheets colored a brilliant blue. Then, wrapped up in the soft bedding was a slight figure- thinner than any of them, coughing slightly. As they advanced, Hermione could see who it was- an impossibility. Rowena Ravenclaw, brilliant Hogwarts founder, her face beautiful and austere- but at the same time, thin, gaunt, and pale. One bony hand grasped a letter- marked with blood.

It all made sense now- the squid, the willow (or lack thereof), the missing paintings and portraits. The little differences...

And the stables. It must have been the last protective measure the founders could give Hogwarts.

It seemed forever- an eternity, before the deceptively shabby witch before them mustered up the strength to say anything. But when she did, her voice came out broken, sorrowful, deep and rich, magnetic and powerful. It was a woman's voice, but with a timbre of a man's. A beautiful baritone sound, with a delicate feminine intonation, graced with a raspiness that came only with debilitating sickness.

"I have just been told that my daughter has died."

The time travelers- for that was what they had to be- exchanged glances, before returning their gazes respectfully to the woman on the bed.

"There is nothing for me to hold onto," Ravenclaw said hesitantly, dejectedly. "Nothing."

"I-I'm sorry to hear that."

It had been Hermione that had spoken, her voice pitifully thin beside that of the legendary figure. So small, so helplessly weak- the brightest witch of the future in comparison to the brightest witch of all time.

Ravenclaw fixed her gaze on Hermione. It was a sharp gaze- that of a bird of prey, a harrier, a hawk. Hermione looked up, and caught her gaze, staring into those dark, hypnotic eyes- eyes with watchfulness, a knowing quality to them.

"Hermione Granger, is it?"

"How did-"

"I am a leglimens, Miss Granger. I know all about you now." A deep rumbling chuckle arose from the sickly chest of Rowena Ravenclaw, quickly followed by a badly congested cough. "And about your… situation."

Hermione made a quick note to study up on occlumency.

"We did not mean to trouble you with-"

"It is a pity," Ravenclaw cut Hermione off, "That as I die, my powers will die with me."

"Where are you going with this conversation?" Ginny had never been one for manners, speaking up whenever it struck her fancy. She had just voiced the question that most of them were dying to ask.

The raven haired founder merely tilted her head at the question.

"I think," Luna said slowly, "That she's offering us a chance- just once chance- to use her powers to change everything."

Ravenclaw beamed. "One of my own house, are you?"

Luna blushed. "Yes."

"It shows."

"Thank you."

Hermione looked at the sickly founder wonderingly. "One chance?" They had been given once chance to use Rowena Ravenclaw's powers to fix everything- the future would rest entirely on the outcome of what they asked for.

"Just one," Ravenclaw said- a disclaimer, a warning. "Choose wisely."

With a swish of her hair, Hermione had turned around to face the others, her expression the very mask of solemnity. She opened her mouth to confer with them, but no words came out. Slowly, she closed her mouth and tried again, but found that, although her mind had recovered from the shock of being gifted the possibility of fixing the world, her body was still surprised, speechless.

"What should we ask for?" she finally eked out.

* * *

"Let us fix everything," Hermione said anxiously, staring imploringly at Ravenclaw.

"Everything?"

"Yes."

Ravenclaw took a moment to study her hands- pale and transparent, like aged parchment. There were perhaps, more lines on her wrists than her vanity would have liked, but it wasn't as if she would have to see them much longer anyway.

"That's a tall order, fixing _everything_."

Hermione began to feel nervous, her mind spinning with the various possible ways the Hogwarts founder could have misinterpreted her words. "I didn't mean for you to take us literally, I meant-"

The older witch held out a hand, that only moments earlier had been under her penetrating gaze. "You've already said all you need to. You wanted to fix everything? I'll…." She paused for a moment, her eyes shining. "I'll make it happen.

And then, she grasped her wand in her veiny hand, thin fingers curling around the wood, caressing it as if it were some sort of lifeline she could use to extend her life- and waved it, wordlessly, her eyes never leaving Hermione's.

Suddenly, all the wind was knocked out of her, and she collapsed, eyes bulging, chest rising and falling rapidly, onto the bed. Hermione reached over in concern, but shrank back when the world began to spin around her, blurring into a mass of unsightly colors, as if a rainbow had been melted and mixed….

* * *

She lifted herself up, raised one hand to her cheek.

Alive, she was alive. Hope coursed through her, and she rose unsteadily to her feet.

The first thing she noticed was that her surroundings were different. She was in a dimly lit room, filled with only a badly made bunk bed (she was sitting on the bottom bunk), two trunks- school trunks, she noticed- a small desk, and a floor length mirror, shining with all the light that the cheap lamps could muster.

"Why am I here?" she spoke aloud. Her voice was different too- more melodious, and sweeter- perhaps sickeningly sweet, akin to the way that Pansy Parkinson spoke to Draco.

"What happened?" Panic, which she had been feeling for a while now, had seeped into her voice. She felt her feet propel her to the mirror, to see if anything else about her had changed.

Her eyes were darker- too dark for her liking, evil-looking. Her hair had slightly straightened, a rich, glossy black that tumbled down in waves. Her skin was paler, no longer the rosy glow of health that she used to have. Her features were completely different- nobler, more beautiful- but at the same time, her new looks instilled a sense of terror into her mind.

"What am I?" Hermione whispered to herself, removing her trembling hand from her face.

As if on cue, a boy- handsome, with nearly the same features as she, rolled over in his bed, his eyes opening, flashing a dark look at her.

"Hermione?" he asked, his voice soft and imperceptible.

And familiar.

* * *

So what did you think? Did you likey? You've read, now please review! I will respond via PM to every review!


	2. Chapter 2

Hi, it's Hyaci, and I know I have no excuse for not writing for so long, but you know me. My schedule is touch and go XD

* * *

**Chapter 2: A Weird Set of Twins**

* * *

It was his voice that she recognized- smooth and silky, refined and without rough or uneven edges. A masculine version of the voice she now possessed- a sweet voice, sticky and undoubtedly with some venom, somewhere, if one cared to look far enough. That voice- it was utterly jarring when it wasn't issued from a snake-like man, with translucent, pale white, veiny skin and dark, blood red eyes.

It was unmistakably the voice of Lord Voldemort.

Once she had heard the voice, there was no longer any doubt as to his identity, or even hers. If he was the Dark Lord- if he was Tom Riddle- then without a doubt, she was his sister, one that he never had in the timeline she had originally come from. No doubt- the proof was in her voice, her face, every part of her now screamed 'Riddle', because that was who Rowena Ravenclaw has sent her back to be. A half-blood sister, another heir of Slytherin. That was her new identity, and she'd been able to process that information right away, as soon as the voice had breached her ears.

But she had to be sure.

"Hermione?" he had asked softly, in that voice, a small whisper almost lost in the nighttime breeze.

"Tom?" A word, issued from her throat, to test the waters, to test her theory. She suspected it was him- from Ginny and Harry's vivid descriptions that fit all too well. Until now, it had just been a theory, one horrible and fresh in her mind, disgusting and abhorrent, one she was sure would be affirmed in just a few minutes. Or seconds.

"Yes?" he asked, his voice clearer now as he turned in his bunk, to look at her. His eyes were dark, dark like the winter sky- and they held a deep seated grace, an allure- one that she had seen in her eyes also. Because he was a Riddle, so was she. They were siblings now. Riddles, the both of them.

"Nothing," she had replied, soft and sweet and girlish, in a patented imitation of Pansy Parkinson's bad idea of 'coy'. "It was just a dream, go back to sleep."

"Are you sure?" he'd asked. His voice held a tinge, a color of suspicion now. Obviously, her behavior had not been reassuring enough- she assumed it was the Pansy voice, and resolved to speak differently from then on.

"Quite," she had replied, her voice stronger now, more herself. It carried a false conviction- she was fine, she had merely awoken in response to a bad dream, a startling dream, a nightmare. "Just go back to sleep, Tom. It was nothing." Nothing_, nothing_. The last word reverberated in her head like an echo that _just wouldn't_ fade. A haunting wisp that _just_ wouldn't flee the confines of her mind, no matter how hard she tried to banish it. No internal meaning, no alternate meaning, but stuck in the cerebral folds, the wrinkly confines of her mind.

Because it wasn't nothing, and she wasn't a good liar. But she had to be convincing, even if it was just this once.

"Just a dream Tom, go to sleep."

A shuffling noise came from above, and when she turned to look at him, it was obvious that he had taken her advice and gone to sleep. Quietly, she stood, waiting for the tell-tale even breathing that would ensure her he was actually asleep. For a minute, she held her breath in suspense, until she was a hundred percent sure he was slumbering.

She looked straight at the floor length mirror, deep into her own eyes, trying to gauge as much information as possible simply by staring at herself- information she would need if she were to attempt to fit into the shoes she was currently forced to fill. First, her hair- her hair was long and glossy, so unlike her own hair. The brown, frizzy hair she'd always been ashamed and proud of at the same time, that set her apart from all the other girls in the school… she had thought she would be glad to lose the bushy hair, but now she was left only the feeling of loss… She shook her head to clear her mind. Long, straight, glossy hair… the significant word was 'glossy.' It meant that she took care of that hair, that she was self conscious. If she were to maintain appearances, it would have to stay that way. She resolved to liberally abuse shampoo, conditioner, and hair potions.

Next, Hermione looked at her hands. She'd learned long ago in divination that hands could give a measure of a person, but at the time, she'd scoffed. And while she still didn't believe that palm lines could tell the future, she knew that parts of her hands- her nails especially- could give her insight as to who she was, in this alternate world.

Perfect, shiny, neat, trimmed nails. They weren't garishly painted, nor were they bitten ragged. In this world, she was neither extraordinarily ditzy, nor was she prone to bouts of anxiety. Her nail biting habits would have to stop.

Her face- it was youthful, her skin smooth and white. She looked all of fifteen- was she fifteen, in her fifth year at Hogwarts? After giving the sleeping Tom a surreptitious glance, she hurried over to her trunk and pulled out a few books. O.W.L. prep books… yes, she was in her fifth year. She sorted through her things, hoping that she could sort of piece together this… 'Hermione Riddle'.

Spellbooks, spellbooks, and more spellbooks… It seemed that she and her new identity were more alike than she had thought.

"What are you doing?" Tom's voice cut through the silence like a knife- sharp and direct. Hermione dropped her spellbooks abruptly in surprise.

"I thought you were sleeping," she accused.

"Hardly," he said. "You were acting all suspicious. I was only pretending, to see what you would do."

Tricky, tricky. Tom Riddle was tricky. And good at faking sleep, she noted.

"I'm just excited to be going back to Hogwarts again," she gushed, in what she hoped would sound like a reverent tone. "I can't wait to learn all the O.W.L. material."

This he seemed to buy. His face softened, and his eyes became less suspicious. He sighed, and propped himself up on an elbow, before fixing Hermione with an intense stare. After a few moments, he opened his mouth, and then: "Could you hand me my book? _Transfiguring the Theories_?"

Transfiguration- this led to a chain reaction in Hermione's mind, one that began, occurred, and was processed in a rate only one of true brilliance could achieve. In all of ten seconds, Hermione made the link from Tom's textbook to the transfiguration class at Hogwarts- which was taught by Albus Dumbledore. She felt a surge of hope- Dumbledore was alive, alive in this time. She would go to him, tell him everything that happened, would happen-

But, yet, no. She was Tom Riddle's sister- what reason would Dumbledore have to trust her? She guessed it would depend on how close she was to her brother- something she could not know from the interactions thus far. It would seem that their relationship was amiable- but more likely, it was Tom keeping up his cover as perfection incarnate.

Why though? She found it suspicious that Tom would keep his true self hidden from his own sister. Wouldn't it be a lot of unnecessary work? It would be much easier for him to charm her with his silver tongue, and then have her by his side. Sure, it wouldn't work on _her-_ but that was because she had already known what he was, what he was capable of. Of all the hate and all the evil he would bring to the world- she knew, and that was why she wouldn't fall to his charms.

But that had nothing to do with Hermione Riddle- a girl who knew nothing of the future.

In any case, she mused, Dumbledore would likely see her as Riddle's attempt to grow close to him, to seduce him to the dark side like Grindewald had tried and succeeded so many years ago. She would have to be content with the fact that Dumbledore was alive, and the limited comfort it brought her.

All this, she processed in ten seconds.

"Got it," Hermione said, smiling. She hurried over to his trunk (which, she noted, was decorated elaborately with snakes and serpents), threw it open, and rifled around until she found the old textbook she was searching for.

"Here," she said, tossing it to him. "Have a good time reading."

He smirked as he caught it. "Will do." Then, his back was turned to her, and he was facing the window, reading by the light of the waning gibbous moon.

Silently smiling a tremulous smile, she stood up and made her way back to her cot, when something shiny caught her eye. Laid out on the desk were two shining prefect badges- they were prefects? Something stirred in her memory, and her eyes widened. She'd almost forgotten- her house! Quickly, and quietly, so as not to disturb Tom, she returned to her trunk, and rooted around for her robes. All too soon, she caught sight of a green collar, and froze.

Slytherin… she was a Slytherin…

Hermione slid to the floor, her eyes closed, her face contorted into an expression of pain. It seemed she would have not only one, but two identity crises that day.

* * *

The thin, weak sunlight glowed ominously overhead as Hermione lugged the Hogwarts trunk onto the Platform Nine and Three Quarters, her eyes darting behind her to keep track of her newfound brother. He was walking into the room, easily carrying his trunk as if it were no burden- when in reality, she knew it was at least as heavy as hers. While she was excited to be going back to Hogwarts, it was clear that he was even more so- his eyes lighted up with a passion whenever school was mentioned.

Her brother- she had grown used to the fact that he was her brother now. That she was the twin to the darkest wizard of all time. Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort.

From Harry's description, she had expected him to seem tricky and dangerous, but he seemed rather kind and friendly. He did not even seem that distant- he seemed to confide in her quite a bit. Although she knew this to be incorrect, as he made no mentions of a anagram of a moniker, or of any plans pertaining to world domination.

Of course, all this could be attributed to the fact that she was his sister now. A lesser mind would assume it gave her a great advantage- that perhaps Tom believed she could sympathize with him, having supposedly had the same parents, the same childhood, the same interests. Perhaps he regarded her as another aspect of himself- a clone- different, but the same.

She knew better, however.

It was all an act, his smooth and charming and kind exterior. Worst of all, it did not even seem remotely fake. Had she not known that he was already evil, already horrid, already a monster to his very deep, dark, and rotten core, she would never have realized that such wickedness could lie beneath such a pleasant exterior. Very realistic- she had to applaud his skills. He should have won awards- he would have swept them all, leaving none for anybody else. Perhaps if he hadn't wanted to rule the world, he could have become an actor. He would have been great- perfect looks, perfect skills. The thought brought a giggle to her lips.

"What's so funny?" he asked her, his tone and eyes seemingly amused.

"Nothing," she said absentmindedly to herself. He raised his eyebrows, but she waved him away.

Nothing. She still had not formulated a plan on how to take him down. A killing curse was out of the question- she'd never succeed. She'd be dead first. Besides, even if she succeeded, spending the rest of her life as a soulless husk in Askaban did not appeal to her one bit. No, she needed to set up his death to look like an accident- but even after a week of living in that horrid little orphanage, she still had nothing.

In the week between her entry to this strange new world, she'd managed to grasp a stranglehold on this Hermione's personality- which was, more or less, a caustic, twisted version of her own. With a few tentative tests and tries, it seemed to her that sharp barbs and hooks were expected from her.

And while she didn't feel completely comfortable around Tom as to bait him with such sarcastic words, she'd managed to curb her fear, anger, and hate- at least, whenever he was around. She couldn't reveal how much she knew of his evil- he would have eliminated her, familial bonds be damned. She would have been a threat- one that would have needed to be eradicated.

Sighing, she gave her green tie one light, halfhearted tug, before she turned to look at Tom in the face. She raised both her eyebrows. "Are we going to the prefects compartment or not?"

* * *

The carriage ride was obnoxiously bumpy, even though the ground below them was smooth. She supposed it was the fault of the thestrals that pulled the carriages, though after her last experience with a thestral, she had nothing but a deep appreciation for the species as a whole. Thus, she was unable to reasonably attach her frustration to anything or anyone, and subsequently turned it within herself, to allow it to fester and rouse her into an extremely dark mood.

Tom rode beside her, perhaps as attentive as a brother should be, but more likely a little preoccupied. He was unable to entertain Hermione for long periods of time, as he would only indulge her for a few moments before returning to his tome on the subject of wizarding mythology.

She had grown to act much looser around him now- she was not overly apprehensive, nor was she wary. And she resolved not to be, not until he gave her reason, because she knew she was not a good enough actress to be wary and act as if she were not. In any case, up until now, she had lived under the protection of his being underage, and at Hogwarts, she would simply have to rely on his attachment to the appearance of proper decorum (and to his reputation as an intelligent, kind boy) to be kind to her. She did realize that this was a bit of a large assumption, but the alternative was to watch her back at all times, and that would simply be exhausting. It was almost better to slip away under the delusion that their familial bonds would protect her…

Yet she knew that he could easily turn a blind eye to such bonds, to sever them if he wanted nothing to do with them. He had- or perhaps it was more correctly put, he _would_ set such bonds aside, dissolved them, when he killed the Riddles and framed Morfin Gaunt for the deed. This was Lord Voldemort she was thinking of, that she was planning for, and he was incapable of any sort of love. Romantic love, platonic love, familial love- it was all foreign to him. He might act the part of a doting brother- or rather, a distant brother- but it was all a pretense. A falsehood. A gratification for those who expected him to fulfill certain social norms.

Hermione sighed, turning to the window. It was impossible to second guess the Dark Lord, but that wouldn't stop her from trying to do exactly that.

Determined to think of other, more cheerful topics, she glanced out the window of the carriage, to stare at the dark castle that loomed directly ahead.

Her eyes couldn't help but widen slightly at the sight of Hogwarts- not overrun with monsters and death eaters, not as bare as it was in Rowena's time. Here was the Hogwarts she remembered- or, at least, some semblance of it. There were some differences of course- no whomping willow, no hut for Hagrid. Most things were as she remembered them, however.

"Hagrid," she whispered quietly to herself. He would be in his third year… not yet banished for a deed he hadn't committed…

"What?" Tom asked absentmindedly.

"I didn't say anything," she murmured. "Nothing at all." Nothing.

Thinking of Hagrid made her remember that, it was in his fifth year that Tom had unleashed the Basilisk and framed the friendly half-giant. Giving up all hopes of ever being even remotely cheerful (or even of thinking cheerful thoughts) ever again, she began to formulate plans that would allow her friend to continue his education, uninterrupted by an expulsion generated from an evil boy with the headmaster twirling around his slender pianist finger.

Because, in the past week, she had come to a conclusion- it wouldn't matter what she did here. Wizarding laws in regard to time travel be damned. There would be no repercussions- she was sent here to make a difference, and that was exactly what she would do.

* * *

The sorting hat fell silent, and generous applause filled the hall, cacophonous to Hermione's ears. She frowned, and laid her head down in her arms. Around her, the Slytherins stood up as the first student to be sorted was thrown unceremoniously to the snakes. Only she was unexcited, it seemed. Even Tom was standing up, cheering as the student came to take his seat by their table.

"Are you not feeling well?" he asked softly, gently as he sat back down beside her. She looked to him with a perverse admiration for his acting ability- his concern was awfully realistic. If she really wanted to, she could almost persuade herself to believe…

"I'm fine," she said, her voice as smooth as his. She had learnt to tame it, her instrument (not her face- that would have to follow at some later time). It had taken hours, days of secret practice, but she had managed to make her voice as silky and as slippery as his was. It wasn't nearly as hard as she thought it would be. Perhaps it was a gift that was passed along Slytherin's line of descent.

She had yet to try the other part of her inheritance from her new ancestor, however. Thus far, she had made no effort to attempt parseltongue.

"You don't look it," concern filled his voice, his eyes, his face. Hermione would have snorted into her pumpkin juice- but her goblet was empty. Now he was overacting, laying it on real thick. And cheesily, at that.

"Looks can be deceiving," she said, meaning every bit of the double entendre. Her looks were deceiving, and so were his. Looks _were_ deceiving indeed! He might have picked up on this, but it was unlikely, and his response was swallowed up in the cheering that surrounded them when another first year was assigned to the barbaric house of green and silver, of pureblood snobbery.

When the sorting was finally over and the feasting began, she found her eyes inexplicably drawn to the staff table. She knew a few of the teachers- there was Horace Slughorn, in all his fat glory, chewing on an overcooked chicken leg. Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling as he raised a goblet to his lips. Dippet, whom she had only ever seen in a portrait, sitting at the head of the staff table, looking every bit as wise as Dumbledore, though he was assuredly not so.

The other teachers… she had no idea who they were, and that was a problem. The Hermione that she was impersonating had attended this school for four years already, yet she knew none of the teachers.- it would certainly seem very suspicious to Tom. She recalled a set of yearbooks in the library, and made a note to herself to flip through them during her prefect rounds.

"You're not eating?" Tom's voice was now layered with mounds of concern. Or at least, it sounded like it was.

"I am," she said, a little defensively. She slowly picked up her spoon, and began to mechanically shovel some of the jacket potatoes into her mouth. Tom still watched her doubtfully, and she sighed.

"I'm feeling a little sick form the carriage ride, alright?" she lied.

"Why didn't you say so? You should go to the Hospital wing then-"

"I'm fine now," Hermione interrupted. She spread her arms in mock surrender. "See? This is why I didn't tell you. I just knew you'd make a big deal out of nothing."

His eyes hardened for a moment, and she thought perhaps she had outed herself. Perhaps… perhaps this was the first time he'd made a big deal of nothing, and he'd never done it before? That surely would have undone her, he'd have known that she wasn't who she pretended to be…

"She's right," a voice beside her said, light and playful. "Lighten up, Tom. You always overreact. 'specially when it comes to Hermione."

She turned, and was met face to face with the doppelganger of a young Sirius Black- alike in nearly every way. Handsome, refined features of a noble mien, with an aristocratic flair for fashion. His hair was long like Sirius's was, but straight, and slicked back in the manner of Malfoy. His face, however, held a playfulness that she simply could not imagine that inbred bigots could possibly have.

Sirius. His was another life she would save, if she managed to pull off everything correctly.

"What's your name," she asked cheerfully, her Riddle-esque voice hiding any sign of pain or sorrow that arose from the thought of her friend's godfather, or from the sight of someone who was obviously a close relative of his, that was identical to him in nearly every way.

The boy's mouth formed an o. "I forgot, we haven't officially met." He stuck out a hand with a grin. "I'm-"

"His name's Alphard," Tom finished for him.

Hermione distantly recalled the name. This was the relative that had given Sirius money when he had been disowned by his family, and was, in consequence, also blasted off of the Black family tree. Uncle Alphard…

"A Black, are you?" the words slipped from her mouth in a moment of lacking self-restraint.

"Our reputations precede us," he said. His statement could have been interpreted in a variety of ways, but his look of utter disdain suggested that he rather disagreed with being identified with his family.

"You just look like a Black, that's all."

"I find that offensive," Alphard said, laughingly. "I look nothing like Cygnus or Burggie. And are you going to shake my hand or not?"

She took his hand. "Cygnus? Burggie?"

"His brother and his sister," Tom said, once again serving as exposition. His voice seemed a little bit sour than before, and Hermione had trouble comprehending why he wasn't keeping up the appearance of a perpetually happy and kind schoolboy. Perhaps Walburga- that was who she assumed 'Burggie' was- was as unpleasant in this time as she was in the portrait kept at Grimmauld Place.

"True Blacks, the both of them" Alphard grinned ruefully. "They believe in pureblood supremacy and all that shit. They think that muggleborns are slags and jessies- ow! Hey, lemme go!"

Hermione unclenched her teeth, and slowly peeled her fingers out of his now red, crushed, and tender hands.

"What was that?" Tom asked.

"Nothing," Hermione said smoothly. "I just had a muscle spasm."

Alphard looked over the both of them curiously. "You two are riddles, you are." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Geddit? Riddles?"

"Haha, very punny," Hermione deadpanned.

Tom shot the both of them a look, and they cowered- Hermione especially. This was the first time she'd seen Tom angry- it was also the first time he even remotely resembled the hideous creature that was Lord Voldemort. The resemblance really only showed when the both were angry- but it was more in the facial characteristics than the features. Narrowed eyes. Thin lips. Extremely arched eyebrows. Hermione distantly noted that Tom also flared his nostrils- something that Lord Voldemort lacked.

"Just eat your food," he ordered smoothly. "And Hermione- you better be ready to guide those first years to their common room."

She nodded, before slowly turning back to finish her potatoes. Her brother- he could be scary.

* * *

"First years, this way!"

Hermione stood at the front of the crowd, waiting for the first years to gather around her and Tom. It was a good thing, she decided, that she had gone on the Hocrux hunt with Harry, or else she'd have never known that the Slytherin Common Room was under the lake. With this teeny tidbit of information, and a little assistance from her trusty guidebook to Hogwarts- _Hogwarts, A History_.

When the little tykes failed to gather round the Riddle twins, Hermione sighed, and pulled out her wand. Somehow, she was now wielding Harry's wand. When she'd first seen it, she'd had a bout of denial, but when her hysteria had worn down, it had all started to make sense. Wands with twin cores for twins. It was hilarious.

Red sparks shot from the tip of her wand, burning hot and bright. Immediately, all of the first years fell silent, fearfully gathering around her. She was strangely reminded of the death eaters- they had all had the same look on their faces as these little children. Was she… was she acting like Voldemort? Did her sparks seem like intimidation tactics? She hadn't meant for them to seem that way. However,from the way that Tom looked at her with a mock weariness etched on his face, it seemed like expected behavior, and she decided to just go with it.

"Really, Hermione," he chided with a note of humor in his voice. "Was that necessary?"

She'd never thought she'd be joking around with Tom Riddle.

"Of course it was, dear brother," she said, sickeningly saccharine. "These little ones obviously needed a little guidance to… assist them in their search for authority figures."

He smirked, before clearing his face and turning his attention back to the first years. "This way," he called, as he began to lead them down to the dungeons.

Tired, and exhausted, Hermione followed, yawning as she did so. One of the straggler first years- far behind the rest of the group- turned and looked at her with a fearful expression. She smiled sweetly, and motioned him to speed up and catch up to the others. She, on the other hand, would enjoy this rare chance for a nighttime stroll around Hogwarts…

"Hey there!"

A teacher's voice. She turned around, with a smile on her lips. "Yes?" she asked, in a smooth, sweet manner entirely too similar to Riddle's.

A blonde woman dressed in austere black robes strode up to her in a businesslike manner. She was obviously a teacher- there was an air of authority around her, undermined only by her seemingly unfocused, ethereal blue eyes… Those eyes….

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"Luna?"

* * *

AND DUN DUN DUN. We meet Luna (again)! The others will all turn up somewhere eventually... ;D

Read and review please, and tell me what you think! I will respond to any and all comments! Unless they're unsigned, where there's nothing I can do :|

~Hyaci


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